His Personal Notes
by MissPixel
Summary: Karin revisits St. Marguerite hoping to find closure, but instead digs up secrets and confessions that she would rather remain buried.
1. Chapter 1

It's a-mee, the one-trick Karin/Nicolai pony, back with yet another one-shot that might get depressing.

Disclaimer: All I want for Christmas is that adorable Vatican exorcist. Unfortunately, Midway/Nautilus/whatever owns him, Yuri, and Karin. So bleh.

* * *

By now, Karin had buckled down and come to terms with the fact that only by saying his name repeatedly could she even get him to cast a spare glance her way.

Yuri, Yuri, turn around and listen to me – it was always the same tune, and she was getting so damn sick of singing it.

And eventually he would concede, and would turn to regard her, but then came the part where she would try to talk to him, and he'd get that glazed look on his face, as if he heard her but was simply unable to comprehend her words. It wasn't hard to see that he didn't care much about her history, or her feelings… even the spontaneous humorous remarks that her other friends found so amusing failed to turn his ear her way.

Perhaps he was too busy staring at her more generous attributes to realize that she was speaking to him. In another world she would be prepared to forgive him, since he was, after all, a man, but she'd already grown so tired of seeing his eyes constantly slide downwards ever so slightly that she was more inclined to be annoyed than to excuse his seemingly bottomless libido.

But she'd tried to look past it. She'd tried to look past the vulgarity; tried to give him something to be interested in. She'd embellished, elaborated; anything to make her life sound as exciting as she possibly could – a family of Munich's respectable old money, her spectacular rise in the German army at the tender age of twenty-five… and to anyone else, she thought it actually might have been quite engaging, but that was only if they had the minor patience required for the intellectual commitment.

So she talked about him. He seemed far more eager to converse when it was about his own life, even though he told her repeatedly that he 'didn't want to talk about it', and although it wasn't always a subject Karin wanted to hear about, it was in some small way her link to him. But even when she asked him questions about his family, his home, even about Alice, he was distant and impersonal, always seeming adrift in his own world and his own musings, which she suspected were to be shared only with his lost love and not with an annoying, prying stranger who had only just come into his life.

And honestly, as of now she wasn't sure she wanted to take part in whatever it was he concerned himself with – his life, his history… especially not Alice.

And yet she couldn't help but wonder what it was that Yuri Hyuga thought about. Having so many minds in a single head must have given him a multi-dimensional outlook on life. Did each separate creature have a distinct personality and soul? They sure didn't make him any kinder or more perceptive… perhaps they were all male demons, and happened to share the infuriating blindness that came with the gender. If there was one thing she thought he might have gained by housing so many elegant creatures within his own body, it was class – and yet, somehow the man seemed ridiculously far from any semblance of it.

Killing time in the only place she could find that was remotely like a bar in the peaceful Inugami Village, Karin sat on a stool before a largish bottle of hot sake, face rested pensively on one open palm as she stared with half-lidded eyes into the wall. Not quite tipsy yet, she wished desperately that she had some hard liquor with which to knock herself out, even though she couldn't put her finger on the reason.

Of course her entire family had been brutally killed less than a month in the past, but it had all happened so quickly that she was less miserable than numb with the suddenness of it all, and she certainly wasn't devastated quite enough to drink herself silly. As far as she was concerned, although it had been prestigious in its time, the time had come for the Koenig family name to simply die out.

It wasn't often that something could make her so depressed that she wanted to escape reality. She had actually rather like the world she called home up until recently. For no good reason, some unmistakable sadness had decided to roll over her like a tenacious raincloud, fogging her sense of humor until she became pessimistic; even dangerously unhappy around others. Even her friends.

Her friends, who needed her to be funny and charming all the time, who wouldn't stand for her to be sad or dejected, even if it only meant they wouldn't have to bother themselves with cheering her up.

Karin laughed a bit at the idea and redoubled her efforts to become inebriated. She couldn't imagine why it was taking so long – sake didn't have much alcohol content, but ten percent was more than enough to overcome her paltry excuse for a tolerance.

Her next swig was so deep and sustained that she could feel the eyes of the counter attendant fixing her with a curious stare, for her elbow had only moments ago brushed against something cold and metallic at her side, scraping along its many embedded gems and pointed gold-carved trimmings and serving as an unwelcome and unpleasant reminder of the reason she could not eat or sleep in her right mind, with or without that tiny voice in her head telling her that she _could have_ done something about 'it'.

She had always admired the weapon in its decorated scabbard, elegant and beautiful in contrast to the trifling military-issue blade she'd handled alongside it. This was the magnificent blade whose polished honey-colored hilt and numerous glimmering set jewels were said to have been handled by sir Galahad of the Round Table himself… and which had, much later, been wielded by another man who occupied Karin's every thought no matter how hard she tried to drive him from her mind.

Hunching her back further and bringing her head closer to the table, she closed her fingers around her cup and tapped it lightly against the table, over and over until she worked up the nerve.

"Nicolai," she said simply, earning another quizzical glance, and then to the attendant's further surprise, she laughed, wondering if she were going quietly insane.

Saying his name didn't make her feel any better. Quite the opposite, in fact – it made her feel dirty and low; a bitter taste the sake couldn't wash out.

Nicolas Conrad. Intelligent, handsome. With class. Also a man whose brutal and untimely death was on her conscience.

She raised her hands to her eyes and studied them with a glum sigh. She was no stranger to the violence and cruelty of war, but the blood on her hands wasn't that of a man meaningless to her; like the myriad soldiers she had dispatched during her many years in the military. Those were trained dogs, militiamen, trained and bred to fight and to throw their lives away at the first given opportunity. She'd even led such men into battle, and had been revolted at their every attempt to shield her from danger even when it cost them their own lives.

"I liked him, you know," she told the attendant bemusedly as the little Japanese man merely gave her another perplexed look and returned to cleaning the tables behind her. "…really liked him."

The man offered up an unhelpful suggestion in Japanese, and she turned back with a disgruntled "Sure."

She doubted it would have been much help even if she could understand him, because at this point even she didn't know how she felt. It was obvious that during the month or so that they had fought side-by-side, they had become good friends. And she'd known from the start that he was a man she would grow to admire, for she'd been attracted to both his appearance and his personality – the way he respected her as a woman, treated her as an equal, and was prone even to lower himself below her as if she were his superior.

Often he'd made her laugh with his wit and clever way with words, and this many months later, she found it impossible to fathom herself leaving such a man to join Yuri Hyuga. And even now, her only explanation was that she must've done something unspeakably evil in a previous life, because her unbelievable karma had awakened the little white angel-conscience in her at precisely the wrong moment. By now, she'd come to her senses enough to realize that even though she'd seen an entirely different side of him in Domremy's church – a personality that was powerfully driven, passionate; perhaps even obsessed – the fact remained that she could have easily forgiven it. The Nicolai that emerged when Yuri was nearby was by no means an indicator of the man as a whole.

Given time, she was certain she could have made herself more to him than just a friend… but the vindictive fates had thought it best to guide her to Yuri instead of Nicolai, and as a result, here she was staring at the hands that had let him die.

"Karin!"

Her heart felt as if it would implode.

"_Hurensohn,_" she cursed, breaking into spontaneous German, "_Scheisse, _you scared me."

"Uh, sure," Yuri replied, to which she offered a small internal smirk – that little Japanese man wasn't the only one who could speak in tongues. "Sorry."

Karin did her best to plaster a smile onto her lips, and as a result managed to warp her face into a painful grimace that she suspected might appear more like a death mask than an expression that would come off as endearing.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Hey, don't gimme that."

"What?" she retorted glumly.

"The cheery face," he persisted, "Something's wrong."

Karin stared down at the counter top, her forged grin melting into a pathetic scowl. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Yuri slung himself down in the seat beside her, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall with a frown that nearly made her believe that he was concerned. "So what's up?"

"…did the others send you?"

"That's not an answer. And no, they didn't, but they _have_ been worried. Hence, what's up?"

Karin didn't reply, for a myriad of numbingly inappropriate answers appeared in her head all at once, and she knew that if she opened her mouth, one of them would escape against her will.

_Well, Yuri, remember that guy who denounced you as a petty bounty without ever meeting you, stabbed you with a cursed relic, knocked you out for two days straight, and condemned you to lose all your memories with a well-placed hex and a smile on his face?_

_Well, I'm hopelessly in love with him._

She gritted her teeth. No, she was not in love with him. She was _not_ currently trying to heavily intoxicate herself while she pined away for him like a pathetic self-pitying halfwit.

Karin lifted the cup to her lips to buy herself some time, fully aware of Yuri's challenging crimson stare.

"Yuri – "

"Yeah?" he prompted, almost too quickly, and then when she appeared taken aback, he was quick to offer a "…sorry."

"I, ah," she began, "I think I need some time to myself. You know… to think about things."

"Oh."

That was it. 'Oh'. A simple answer from a simple man.

"Do you think you guys could do without me for a while?"

"How long?" he asked with a frown.

"Only a few days. I just want to be away from everybody for a while."

"Something the matter with us?"

"Oh, no," Karin replied quickly, "no, it's not you at all. I'm just a bit high strung right now, seeing as everything's become a little hectic. I thought that maybe a couple of days might help me sort things out."

She saw Yuri's puzzled gaze and added abruptly, "But if you don't want me to, of course I'll stay; I'm sure you have your reasons – "

"No," he interrupted, "no, it's okay, I get it. You take as much time as you need, okay?"

With a wink he added, "Don't worry. Everybody'll still be here when you get back… We'll be waiting for you."

"Right here?" Karin inquired, surprised that he had suddenly conceded with so little objection.

Yuri nodded. "Yeah, right here."

She had the sudden, impetuous urge to kiss him, and wished vaguely that it could be a bit longer than just an 'impetuous urge'. But the fact remained that at the moment, she was certain that she really did love Yuri with all her heart.

She decided to show it by attacking him with an enormous embrace, earning a surprised 'Whoa' and an awkward pat on the head before she pulled away with a real smile.

"_Danke schön,_" she burst happily, "Thank you, Yuri!"

As she abandoned her drink with enough force to set it spinning on the table, Yuri called after.

"Hold on a second; where's the fire? Where are you going in such a hurry?"

Karin shrugged. "I don't know… but the sooner I get there the better."

She was sure that she left him a little more than perplexed when she disappeared from the tiny building without another word.

* * *

Okay, so it's not exactly a one-shot.


	2. Chapter 2

Here I am! (Song and dance ensue)

Anyway. Felt like I should perhaps continue this, and further support the far-too-small Nicolai fandom.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I probably own Karin's lovesick ramblings, but you never know.

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Dark lonely hallways and cold stone underfoot brought Karin's nights spent as a captive at the hands of Sapientes Gladio to the glaring forefront of her memories, and she had to fight the shivers down her spine as her heavy steps brought her up the spiraling staircase to the core of the Saint Marguerete Island prison.

Each thing was exactly as she remembered it – each deep echoing noise emanated from her heels in just the same way, and when she gathered the strength to reach up with a match and set blazing fire to the abandoned torch tinder, she remembered with haunting accuracy the soft red glows and shadows they cast on the brown-stone walls.

What also hadn't changed was the unsettling feeling of panic that shook her whenever the flames danced through metal brackets in just the right way, making her absolutely certain for a split-second that something large and vicious had come up behind her with drooling fangs and a voracious appetite for underdressed redheads. The lantern that dangled loosely from her right hand clad in a light traveler's cloak had gone largely unused, as she hated being the only source of light as far as the eye could see, looking ahead and backwards into pure darkness and always unsure if the constant silence was calming or terrifying.

At least the crackling of fire gave her something else to think about other than what she might do if a large creature leapt out at her with bloody intentions.

She cursed herself once again as the light metal of Galahad's Sword winked at her from her belt, and wondered if she could ever again go a single day without its reassuring-but-unnerving weight by her side, reminding her that in a way she carried the torch of a man whose strength she had greatly admired, but also taking her back to the moment she had first set hands on the weapon, a moment of rage and clarity where she had salvaged the weapon whilst cursing herself for standing like a fool by Yuri's side while he threatened to kill that certain part of her that she couldn't let go…

Even the demon god Astaroth, with whom Nicolai shared a soul and a body, had fallen to the combined efforts of Yuri and the others, although Karin herself had found herself lingering towards the back of the explosive fight, legs simply resisting her commands to take her forward to attack. And when Yuri demanded to know why she was not helping them, her reply that she was afraid had been a feeble and superficial excuse.

Yuri hadn't picked up, but Lucia had known what was happening. The dancer may not have been bright, but she was the sharpest of them all when it came to understanding the conflicting feelings of a woman in love.

No, not in love. _Not_ in love; simply infatuated because those eyes of his reminded her of finely polished emeralds, and the memory of his godlike smile made her warm inside as the feeling of his fingers over her cheek and the sound of his voice filled her with soothing calm…

Not once had the devil targeted her. When she had finally been coerced by her desperate friends to join the fracas because of her seeming immunity, something which had baffled all of them at the time, she had noticed with half-shock and half-sadness that Astaroth had allowed her to come as close as she liked, swiping with its claws but always hesitating; always missing as something invisible pulled its muscular arms away, leaving her free to wound and slice at its sinewy body until its black blood spilled in floods.

With strength and shameful ease, she'd struck the finishing blow against her will, thinking with a foolish growing dread that perhaps Astaroth had not completely taken over the Vatican exorcist's mind; that perhaps emerald-eyed Nicolai was still sentient inside the demon's shell… even perhaps that by hurting Astaroth, she was hurting _him_ as well. Could he feel pain even when a demon occupied his spirit?

Her grandfather's sword Durandal had struck the demon's black heart with inhuman accuracy, damaging it enough to make it flee cravenly back into the weakened psyche of its human vessel and leaving Nicolai with the aftermath of its crushing defeat: an incensed Yuri and a German army lieutenant who couldn't seem to sort out her warring emotions long enough to decide whose side she was on.

She had wanted to go to him, as seeing him in pain by her own sword was foreign and horrifying to her. Not only was he injured, but she herself had committed the deed. During their short months together, _she_ had always been the one to be by his side whenever he was hurt, tending wounds while he worked his own curative magic, but now she was on the other side, and like an unfeeling beast, she had consciously tried to kill him.

Yuri by her side made her afraid to do it… and what would her friends think? It was a harder decision than it seemed so many months later, but while she felt the burning need to help Nicolai, she also had no desire to be branded a traitor and a defector by people she had grown to love.

So she stayed, hating the hint of sadness in his gaze as he looked through quivering eyelashes at her, demanding Yuri to kill him and be done with it. And although many would think that a defeated man had no pride left to cosset (and even Karin had prepared to hear him beg for his life), each one of them had been caught off guard when he'd remained silent, waiting quietly for death like a man going to the guillotine.

Karin wasn't sure whether she should have thanked or hated Masaji Kato for appearing and whisking the wounded priest away, for while he had brought him safely away from the warmongering Yuri, he had also taken him away from Karin.

Of course, she had acted far too late to properly interfere, and by the time all three of them faded into thin air, she was left crouching where Nicolai had lay only moments ago, fingers clutched white-knuckled around the sheath of the magnificent golden longsword he'd left behind. She was sure that the involuntary shout of anger had startled her friends, and she also knew that they hadn't taken it lightly when she refused to surrender the sword to an adamant Yuri, who refused to have anything to do with something that had belonged to Nicolai.

Of course, he had quickly silenced himself the first time she'd saved his neck from an attacking monster by wielding the sword with a fiery dexterity that she herself hadn't known she possessed.

It became her favorite weapon, even though it was by no means easy to handle. It had the unbalanced, bottom-heavy feel of a lightweight warrior's blade, and the added mass of the decorative gold and precious stones made it much heavier than the rapiers she normally used. Her balance was thrown off more often than not by the weight of the hilt, meant to be handled both by someone with experience in mid-range swordplay and much more upper body strength…

But she loved it; she was somehow intoxicated by its substantiality and comforting familiarity when everything else seemed to be falling apart around her.

As she came to a flat landing in the long corridor, she decided that once and for all, she would tell Yuri everything when she returned. Hell, she would tell everyone, even if there were nothing to tell after all. She didn't even know why she'd revisited this dismal prison, where she'd spent the night sleeping on a cold floor, where she'd heard Yuri's cries through the night as the blonde sorceress tart did unspeakable things to him only a few rooms away… but her only incentive was that once, Nicolai had been here for days, maybe months, at a time.

She immediately recognized the smell of old, dried-up whiskey when she pushed open a weathered door at the end of the hallway, and waved the dust away from her face as she entered a small, pitch-black room, where in their rush to escape the island, prison guards had left maps, drinks, and keys sitting in a stagnant pool over the cluttered table. And while she would think twice before going near the tepid half-empty bottles on the grimy surface, she did take one of four identical key rings from the table, reasoning that although they appeared to be clustered with the same key duplicated over and over with only a single unique silver version at the end, when the time came she would somehow decipher which ones fit where.

She left the room by the opposite door and was faced suddenly with what she thought must be the gloomiest and darkest of Saint Marguerete's hallways, devoid of torch brackets and forcing her to light her lantern at last. As she passed by countless rows of cells dimly lit by her lamp, she extended her fingers and ran them along the dusty bars, recalling perfectly the way each murky hallway looked the same as the last, and how it often seemed as though the labyrinthine network would never end.

"_Ich spreche unsinn,_" she muttered to herself, "what the hell am I doing here?"

She had no good answer. Why did she think that there was something she needed to do here? Some cock and bull about resolution? The realization that Nicolai had never loved her as much as she loved him?

There was that goddamned word again… _love_; how trite and contrived… but still, there was no denying that she remembered every moment she'd ever spent with him, from the time they'd first met at headquarters to the last moment she ever saw him alive. She remembered everything he'd ever said, from the quiet and genial greeting so long ago to the desperate sound of him calling her name that day in the heart of the Immortal Mountain where Astaroth had taken him over once again.

She had been under exclusive attack that day as well, forced to dodge and weave around each swing of its limbs as it hunted her down like a greyhound. It had been Astaroth alone, with Nicolai's thoughts and emotions, but in the end, only a corrupted soul with every intention of spiting its former vessel. And when the beast had finally been brought down, it had nowhere to retreat. Astaroth was gone, and it was Nicolai, battered and weak, left to face Yuri once again.

Karin's insides squirmed as she lowered her head to seek out the matching key for the door before her, trying not to think about the fact that her submission to Yuri was what had cost Nicolai his life.

He'd been so still and motionless collapsed on the ground that she'd feared that he was dead already, but nothing could have made her happier than hearing that voice uttering a single thing, her name, showing her that he was still alive; that she still had time to intervene…

She'd broken from her companions without regard for danger, run to his side like a blind imbecile, never thinking that he could have other motives in mind; that perhaps he still had the capacity to scheme and connive even when his body was weak and his mind had been assaulted both by research and by a powerful demon god. And if she had been bolder, she would have crouched by his side, placed an arm around him and lifted his head from the ground, his brilliant green eyes on her the entire time as if simply at the sight of her all intention of violent had passed out of him in a heartbeat…

But she had done none of that, and because she'd hovered over him a moment too long, Yuri had exploded out of nowhere to push her away.

_Out of nowhere!_ Thinking nothing of what she wanted, slamming a shoulder into hers and throwing her aside like a goddamned rag doll, all to nurture some petty notion of vengeance, just so Nicolai could come back for more, and they'd keep going at it like schoolchildren, never satisfied until both of them were dead –

And she'd almost regretted that thought, for as she lay on her aching back after hitting the ground with a crack, Yuri had wound back his arm for a terrific strike through the exorcist's heart, ready to exact his revenge and kill the man who had killed him. But no, it hadn't been over then, for with an inexplicable burst of agility Nicolai had gotten there first, defying the laws of biology to plunge a hand into Yuri's chest with nary a flesh wound to show for it.

Either of them could have died at any moment. But still, Karin sat where she had fallen, watching with wide eyes, her emotions wrestling with her and making jelly out of her legs.

Then had come the massive blow from Kato to break their neverending stranglehold, the agent's fearsome advance upon the prostrate Nicolai… the fleshy sound of Astaroth's stasis-crystal shard burying not into Kato's flesh but that of his loved one; the expression of shock on the priest's face, the moment Karin had realized with numb shock that he was going to die.

Kicking and gasping out of fear, the smaller man had been lifted high into the air, and his voice had driven daggers into her heart… for not only was he calling out for aid, but he was screaming _her_ name, beseeching her with panic and dread to help him.

And although every desire in her body drove her to leap forth and cleave Kato's head from his shoulders, Yuri's weak hand on her wrist had pulled her back, and with a peculiar mixture of anger and confused love, she'd stayed with him just second more. And when she finally looked back, all the while hearing the terrible honeyed voice contorted into screams and gasps, Nicolai's body slumped to the ground, blood painting his face from ruined eyes.

She stopped in the center of the hallway, marveling as even after such a long time to grieve silently and properly, tears began to sting her eyes as her face contorted in a spasmodic grimace, trying with all her might not to cry.

But who would care? There was no one here to see her; no one but the ghosts and the spirits long gone to sit by and watch her weep out her misery.

So she cried; she slumped to the frigid stone, body jarred as her legs gave out from under her, lantern clattering noisily where she set it down with clumsy disregard. She allowed her shoulders to shake and her voice to escape in tiny gasps, listening as the wretched sounds bounced back at her, twining through the halls and filling the maze of brick and stone with the proof of her grief.

He was dead; truly dead, but that wasn't nearly enough to make her break into sobs and convulsions. Real despair only suffocated her when she realized that those beautiful green eyes, glimmering like precious stones when the light struck them in the right way and filled with warmth and candor, had been destroyed, and not only would she never see them again, but _no one_ would ever see them again. The purity and respect with which he had always regarded her were gone forever, and she would never again lay eyes on the only person she'd ever known to see her, really _see _her, and not dismiss her as a worthless, physically well-endowed damsel with and a penchant for small skirts and nothing better to do than sit tight and be protected.

The seventh key turned in the lock, and Karin pushed onward, through with any hope that the prison would be deserted. By now she wouldn't mind having to draw her weapon against anything that breathed; anything that might distract her from her own self-pitying… anything that might kill the unbearable musty silence.

* * *

...

I suppose I was feeling somewhat angsty at the time...

I shall get cracking on the next (and probably final) chapter, if people seem to like it enough!


	3. Chapter 3

Miss Pixel is hereby back again.

The chapter's a bit short... but then again, the last one was a bit long. And plus, Karin's ramblings are just fun to write.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Karin Köenig had no qualms about killing.

She could stand the sight of blood, and she did not find death rattles or screams of pain unnerving in the least. Hell, she sometimes preferred the din of some good violent bloodshed to being alone, if just to put some excitement into her otherwise unremarkable routine of getting out of bed, bathing, and – oh, going to Zurich to see Yuri's dead girlfriend? That was only a small damper on her day, and the rest was simply delightful the moment she got her blood pumping with a few simple swordplay exercises.

She was beginning to think that nothing more could scare her, for not once had she leapt onto a chair and screamed at the sight of a rodent or danced on her toes in fright in the presence of arachnids, and she couldn't remember the last time she had flinched from a faceless enemy on the battlefield. In the parks of her old town, she had been the one to fight with wooden sticks among the boys while her peers sat and watched obliviously… and when she thought about it, she realized that her family hadn't _raised_ her to be a soldier – she had been a soldier since the day she came into the world, destined not to marry off into a wealthy family but to lead men into battle, spilling ribbons of blood with quick cuts and deft slices and never blinking an eye at it.

So if she was the great Lieutenant Köenig – a warrior woman, an Amazon – then why was this thing about love driving her so insane; why were these events of the past, these fleeting moments among so many, stealing so much of her time and thought?

_For God's sake_, was her only thought as she trudged up the first unfamiliar stone stairwell she came across in an effort to find something that might otherwise occupy her. For a grown woman to be sulking and lingering with such a distant memory, and a dream at that… what would her friends think of her? Never mind her friends, what would her _family_ think of her?

But it was not entirely her fault, she reasoned, for in her defense it hadn't seemed at all like a dream; more like a vision, in truth, for it had been vivid and clear and had taken place in the very last place she remembered speaking to Nicolai as a friend… why would her mind choose any other place if it wanted so badly to torment her with guilt? And as if God – or at least her own sense of shame – had intended it, she remembered his words and his gestures, the pleading expression in his eyes and the helpless tone of his voice as he called and begged as if all he wanted were her presence by his side… all of them as if they had happened in reality.

At first she had thought that he was blurting out the first things that came to his mind – that they were meant to be together, that he could give her the love she deserved. And he was right, she'd realized as she hugged her bare arms in confusion, for she knew better than any other that Yuri was simply incapable of moving on from his angelic Alice, and that his devotion was with his former love, never to be torn away by a passing lovesick crush.

Even when her every sense told her to close her ears and move away, Karin had known beyond a shadow of a doubt that even if the dream-Nicolai's intentions had been foul and clandestine, his words were painfully true. And she'd thought: how stupid of her not to realize that she'd been happy during their short months together, and that what he'd been doing then – giving her his attention and his friendship – was no different from what she so badly wanted from Yuri. Wasn't it time to break her stubborn connections to him, and pledge her love instead to Nicolai, who so ardently wanted and desired her and for whom she harbored such deep-seated affection?

But if that was the case, something akin to madness must have unseated her confidence, for like a child she'd stepped capriciously back from his touch and recoiled from the warmth of his body. She hadn't gathered the strength to resist when he came close enough to her to put his arms about her bare shoulders; to whisper to her his devotion, the sweetest and most valuable thing he could give her… but once her sense of fear and justice had jostled her fantasies out of the way, the thought had come with a jolt that he was a frighteningly good actor, for even though his words were false and foul, they had nearly brought her to tears. And to this day she could not determine what it was that had kept her caution alive… was it the challenge in bringing Yuri happiness once again, or just the lingering affection she had for him?

But perhaps it had been the constant knowledge that just behind her, Yuri lay on the stone, fast asleep and dreaming of more pleasant things… and that if she yielded to her heart, she would in turn become a traitor and regret it to the end of her days.

"You manipulate people's hearts," she recited to the echoing hallway, tightening her traveler's cloak around her shoulders when the feel of the words against her tongue sent shivers down her spine, and continued silently, following the conversation through in her head because it frightened her too much to speak out loud.

_You think you can hide your true self behind your smooth talk, and – _

She encountered the same pause – the same hesitancy, the same half-gasp, half-hiccup that had stitched her throat as she tried to sort out the haze of thoughts in her unconscious sleep-thought. She wondered if Nicolai might have had the same problem, if the dream had also been his – would he have stopped and stammered and acted upon the muddled logic granted to him by sleep?

– _and your good looks_, she'd blurted without thinking, wondering as she said it if that was really his true self: a conniving moneymaker out for fame and fortune… because once, she had believed so completely in him, and to think that it had all been a façade just might strike the finishing blow on her decaying heart.

Not that it mattered any longer – although the image of his expression, angry and confused, remained burned into her memory when she awoke in a cold sweat, the only explanation was that it had been a dream and nothing more. After all, the next time they'd met, at Apoina Tower, his gaze had been firmly fixed on his hated Godslayer, never once meeting her searching eyes or suggesting that he had, not long in the past, spilled his heart out to her with the intention of whisking her away like a knight in shining armor.

She nearly tripped on a stone step in the darkness – her oil lamp had conveniently extinguished itself, and somehow she had taken no notice – and realized that she was suddenly faced with two sets of stone steps, one leading upwards and the other downwards, both into pitch darkness.

But she had been here before, hadn't she? Her small party had been intelligent about it, of course, leading to the formation of Yuri's most brilliant idea in years: splitting up. She'd volunteered to take the lower level, and she and Lucia had searched that floor through and through to no avail when they'd found nothing but a set of empty cells and what they'd thought with much terror must be the spirits of a thousand vengeful ghosts.

Karin squinted upwards, following the very slight outline of the steps upwards with her gradually adjusting eyesight, and struck a match into her lantern, taking the first strides up the dirty steps towards the landing. And as she reached flat ground, brushing spiderwebs out of her face, she began the next ascent, drawing ever closer to what looked like a small, enclosed hallway above and unable to shake the suspicion that she was headed towards a dead end. She sorely hoped not – this place was already pounding on her nerves, and descending into utter blackness wouldn't be nearly as comforting as going up into it.

As she walked, boots clicking unpleasantly loudly on the floor, the shivers through her body seemed to grow in magnitude, and for a moment she thought in jest that perhaps she had a sixth sense that told her when she was headed for certain doom. But as she continued, she realized that it was not because of her fear that her arms were quivering, but because in the past few moments alone, the air had taken on a different quality, subtle but distinctive enough to make her hair stand on end – the musky coldness was suddenly touched with a faint pleasant scent, the origin of which she couldn't quite place. Quickening her pace, she traversed the length of the short hallway in mere seconds, flying through the dark enclosure until a large mahogany door loomed before her.

It was a plain door, devoid of markings or ornamentation that would help her to locate the corresponding key, and so she began searching, fumbling with the ring as the infuriatingly familiar aroma invaded her senses.

What was it, exactly? An intangible sense of elegance, of refinement; the sense of sanctuary she'd always felt while nestled in the arms of God during her prayers… and then there was a more corporeal perfume – the dusky scent of curling parchment, of pen and ink, a studious and scholarly smell she encountered in the deepest sections of churches and libraries where academics bent their heads into books and scrolls.

If it had been as simple as that, she would not have scrabbled with the keys so haphazardly, but there was something more to it than the musty fragrance of old books and churches… something cool and clean, permeating this dismal place of death like a beacon. Even though it felt icy in her lungs, the quivers it sent down the length of her spine were warm and soothing, and that indescribable uniqueness was what made the memory so near to her that it hovered on the tip of her tongue. It had been not long in the past that she'd encountered this, and when she had, simply breathing had become a luxury when each breath was graced by the sight, the sound, the _scent_ of…

Her hand brushed the cold gleaming surface of the twelfth key on the ring, with a body of smooth silver, graceful and pure unlike its fellows of bronze and copper. With a start she realized what it was that the aroma reminded her of, and because it made her heart hurt to think of it, she swallowed down the lump in her throat and slid the key into the lock, turning it forcefully and hearing the sharp click of tumblers as they released and allowed her to push swiftly through with too much force for its delicate hinges.

* * *

Yes, somehow Karin's last name magically sprouted a diaeresis (ö). It just looks more German that way. 

By the way, MikoNoNyte, if you're reading this, that entire section about the 'familiar aroma' was pretty much inspired by your minty Nicolai in Love Unrequited. Just giving you a heads up :-)

In the next chapter, I will MOST DEFINITELY get to the story's namesake.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to a good-natured death threat from Charlie, I realized that this story is in fact still up. Thank you Charlie!

Before I do the obligatory disclaimer, I would like to bring everyone's attention to the fact that a good healthy number of KarinxNicolai fics had magically sprung up in the Shadow Hearts category. To all the authors responsible for this proliferation, I raise my glass in honor, for we shall fight to the death for the future of the KxN fandom!

Right. Now that that's over with, please keep in mind that I have no beta, and grammatical mistakes are simply facts of life. Do feel free to point them out to me and/or mock them. Not too harshly though. I also don't own Nautilus.

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There were no torches to light the room beyond the unadorned door, and Karin's hair stood on end as her lantern turned the smallest objects into looming masses, shedding silhouettes over the black walls and casting a dull pinpoint of a reflection on the dirtied gold frame of a painting on the opposite wall. 

The smell of old books assaulted her nose, and instead of holding her breath she inhaled deeply, trying to search out the muted memory from a kaleidoscope of others. She found Nicolai nestled comfortably in the musty collections of the Vatican, and was pleased to find that she remembered him charmingly asleep against an old bookshelf, surrounded by yellowing parchment and bound manuscripts and jolting humorously awake as she walked in to tell him that she had rested and was ready to make the trip to Apoina Tower.

'Tired?' she'd asked jokingly, and he'd replied with a smile more feeble than usual that it was not important, and that he was only feeling a bit unprepared.

Karin remembered that as the moment she'd seen a fraction of the obsessive, rage-filled man Nicolai could be, for where they had previously been filled with warmth and humor, his half-closed eyes had been frighteningly hard and decisive. That day, the kindness that Karin had grown to love had been laced with hostility, and although she had hoped with all her heart that it would leave him, that inward edge had remained in his eyes until the day he died.

To think – she had thought so confidently that she could be the one to save him from that bitterness.

She could tell that although her lantern made the room intense and forbidding, it had once been comfortable, for covered brackets lined the walls and a small unlit chandelier hung from the ceiling, meaning that illumination would not have been an issue… unlike temperature control, of which there seemed to be no trace. Consequently, the room was so frigid that Karin felt gooseflesh already rising on her skin, even through her traveler's cloak.

She moved through the ambient darkness along a bookshelf at one side of the room, one of two that flanked a marbled sepia table and some very expensive-looking chairs, and ran her finger along the dusty spines of volumes, among which she recognized the names of ancient scholars of Latin and Russian literature.

The breath caught in her throat as her finger paused on the last spine in the third shelf – _Das Narrenschiff, _Brandt's satire… the book she had professed to Nicolai as her favorite of all political writings, and the only German title on the shelf.

Quickly she went on to the end of the room, where a mahogany desk stood simple and unembellished, and set her lamp down inside its raised corner, positioning it to let it illuminate as much of the small room as possible. With only the soft popping noises of the melting candle inside it as company, she seated herself gently in the stiff cushion and extended her arms onto the wooden surface, tracing the glossy swirled knots with her fingers and running her hands over the flat plane to brush away the layers of dust.

She examined the two objects that occupied the desk other than her flickering lantern: a silver fountain pen lying discarded by a dry inkwell. Of the two she took the pen and held it with both hands for a moment, staring keenly at the dull sheen on its chrome body and trying to unlock its mysteries with an intent gaze. What if Nicolai had handled this very pen in the past? It was certainly austere and elegantly simple enough to be a possession of his.

With an uncomfortable lurch of the stomach, Karin realized that there was no writing with a pen unless one had paper on which to write, and putting aside the pen she moved the chair back in order to search feverishly down the drawers of the desk, checking downwards in the left column and growing more anxious with each one that came out empty. The second housed a few quill pens and spare inkwells, and the third bore a thin stack of unused parchment, but she reached the bottom with no luck.

Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs – God, what would she do if this were all? What would she do if these small mementos that might not even be his were all that remained of the man she loved… yes, _loved_; she was through with denying what she knew was the truth.

She felt the racing pulse in her veins stop for a stomach-turning moment – the third drawer on the right side was caught, and would not open when she pulled.

Durandal came to some good use after all – Karin unsheathed it and, after offering an apology to her grandfather for using his sword for such a thieving and inglorious act, drove it downwards through the curved lock of the offending drawer and heard it snap as the broken metal dragged a splintering gash through the wood. After she rested it tentatively against the desk, she faltered as she reached down towards the handle. She didn't want to think about how it might dishearten her if her troubles had been for nothing, and desperately she hoped that there would be something of value in the drawer.

It came open with a single tug, and she held her breath – in one corner lay a small book, black and leather-bound. As if it were a precious relic, she lifted it gingerly onto the desk and watched it for a moment, scanning the obsidian cover for identifying marks but finding nothing to fill its unnerving blankness. Reminding herself not to become to hopeful, she put her fingers resolutely below the front cover, hooking a few pages as she flipped open the book.

It was not a mass of empty pages as she had feared. Far from it, in fact, for on its pages covered in black ink were blocks and blocks of writing, all in a beautiful scrawling calligraphy that looped over itself with a certain careless dignity that could belong to one person only.

He came back to her in a flood of memories - she felt the warm fabric of his coat against her cheek as she rested on his shoulder, felt the heartrending joy rise in her chest at the memory of his comically snarky temper, heard his rich choir voice in her ears as it sent pleasurable quivers down her spine… the image of his quietly smiling face and his jeweled emerald eyes blurred in her mind as tears burned her eyes, and covering her mouth to mask the tiny sobs, she sank further into the chair.

Dated the fourteenth of December, 1914 

_My recent acquisition of the Émigré Manuscript has been nothing short of a miracle – I did not have to combat Hyuga and his mob to the death as I'd expected. Even with that unwieldy ignoramus Curtis and that distasteful strumpet Vera on my side I don't relish the idea of facing that particular band of misfits._

_However, I am, on select occasions, a man of my word, and I am troubled that I was not able to give the Godslayer a fair trade (Bacon for the Manuscript, as I had promised him of course). It does pain me sometimes how closely I must follow in Grigori's shadow, and how I must be so careful to maintain my position as his faithful lapdog… but it will remain as such until Hyuga strikes the finishing blow against that twit of a monk, I suppose._

_I shall begin translating the Manuscript tomorrow. It has a rather awkward shape to it – I suppose its author must have thought it monumentally clever and morbid to produce a volume shaped like a skull – but other than that, my studies should continue unimpeded. Depending on whether or not Curtis decides to leave me alone, of course._

_In retrospect, perhaps it would have been better to attack Hyuga with the three of us rather than waiting for them to catch us off guard. Which is not to say, of course, that I expect them to escape, but one must be prepared for any situation. I do, however, hope Vera does not have too much of that perversion she calls 'fun'. It's one thing if she chooses one of the men – I wouldn't mind seeing some of Hyuga's self-righteous idiocy beaten out of him – but hearing the lieutenant's screams throughout the night may be more nerve-wracking an experience than I care to articulate._

_God in Heaven. How mad must His Holiness have been when he offered me this cursed responsibility? Or, more accurately, I for accepting it?_

_Dated the sixteenth of December, 1914_

_To translate the Émigré will be much more of a challenge than I'd anticipated – the dialect employed within its pages has proven to be a strange combination of vulgar Latin and a myriad of Arabic scripts, interspersed with some characters I believe I have never seen before. I am well familiar with the former language, but the latter will require some work beyond my rudimentary knowledge. _

_To understand and to harness the full power of the Manuscript would require a vast magical knowledge much greater than my own. In truth, I don't know how Kato plans to decipher the texts – more likely he will find my talents useful, since I have some grasp of the language, and honestly, I am the only one with that knowledge who would deign to helping him. I suppose that is to be my bargaining chip for now, for without a clean translation, all of his research and scientific progress will be worth nothing. He will need me; I am sure of it… after all, my rise to Cardinal was no mere stroke of luck._

_Come to think of it, I clearly remember Karin querying me about that very subject. She wanted to know how it was that at a mere twenty-seven years of age I had already risen to such a revered rank… I do recall a distinctly skeptical tone in her voice, but then, I too would be suspicious of the acts one might have performed to attain such a position. Of course, when I explained to her that I had simply demonstrated a comprehensive grasp on both languages and the deviously militant ways of the Church, she was less impressed than merely curious. Perhaps I am right in thinking I left less of an impression than she did during those months we spent together._

_Ah, Karin – an Amazon among strong women – you would never believe me if I told you… if I do perish by the hands of Hyuga, or indeed, by her hands themselves, let it be known to her that I seek her forgiveness. For what, I do not know – for lying to her, for betraying her when she had grown to trust me, for striking her that day in Domremy…_

_I do know this much: she cares greatly for the Godslayer. I find to my chagrin that if being with him would make her happy, I would rather her not be happy, and that if fighting at my side would make her miserable, I would not mind that… I know it is wrong, and I am selfish for saying so, but it is a curious sentiment and I am unsure of my ability to express it correctly on paper. Perhaps if I meet her again I will try to tell her in more coherent terms._

_There must be so many ways in which I am deserving of her scorn – one reason simple enough is that I oppose the man she adores. He and I will forever be enemies, on opposite ends of the battlefield, each fighting for what he believes is right, and that is one thing I could not make up to her if I tried._

_Nevertheless… it is a terrible thing, to be hated by the woman one knows in his heart that he loves._

Able to endure no more, Karin's tensed fingers stiffly nudged the pen into place in the crease of the book, and closed the cover as if it might crumble and dissolve in her grasp. She tried her best to stop her lungs from collapsing, but collapse they did, and her pitiful efforts were swallowed in a wave of gasps and sobs as she hunched her back and put her face in her hands, willing herself to be composed in the face of grief.

Her mind was blank and raced from nothing to nothing, but beneath it all she felt miserable, and so she cried bitterly after all, convulsing as blackness swirled through her head and realizing too late that spots were bursting in her vision and that she needed oxygen. Her head came closer to the desk, and gasping she tried to give herself air, but the reflexes kept shaking her body, twisting her face and clenching her eyes shut. The cool leather of the book brushed her face, and she let her neck rest, feeling pressure building behind her eyes as she gave in and let the constant sobs heave her chest violently.

In that moment, as exhaustion overtook her, her life became complete and empty at the same time. The very words of a man dear to her lay before her, so close she could run her fingers along the ink and see Nicolai bright as day, sitting in this very chair in this very office writing them… but at the same time it was far out of reach, and although she clutched desperately at the sides of the desk, she could not feel his skin under her fingers. His memory did not give his flesh substance, and the biting coldness of the small room devoid of human presence convinced her even more of the terrible certainty of death.

These were no longer notes… these were mementos. Records of a man lost to the ravages of war and human jealousy, whose powerful voice would never again be heard outside of the confines of Karin's own mind, and of whom these writings could be all that was left.

Splashes of tears still dripped from her eyelashes when the consciousness finally left her.

* * *

Not the end. 

It's been a while since I played, so excuse minor factual errors. Hence, the Manuscript can be half Arabic if I want it to be.

(ARGH! I HATE LINE BREAKS! I HATE THEM!)


	5. Chapter 5

Uh-oh. Looks like I'm back.

Lemme just say: Charlie, that review made my day so much better. Things like that speed my response-update time more than one would think... and make me dangerously cheerful for the rest of the day, of course.

Same goes to everyone who reviewed: thanks for your support, and for taking the time to click the button :) Now for the final installment.

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_

_Dated the seventeenth of December, 1914_

_I once made an idle promise never to reveal my dreams to others_, _for even if nothing else in this life is, those are secret and private. If one desires, they need never be known to the world – they belong in a personal domain, hidden away from all else, uncontrollable but forever concealed._

_Today I violate that promise, but only because I count that bizarre event last night as a vision, perhaps even a miracle if I were not so convinced that those strike only the holiest of men. Regardless – vision or miracle, chimera or fanciful fool's paradise – I will not soon forget its deep lifelike color, its atmospheres vivid and clear enough to be life itself. _

_Everything was eerily in place – the color of my flesh before my eyes, the grays and washed-out wood of the church walls, even the deep coruscating vermilion of her hair, a tone unmatched by any earthly shade. The light of the shattered window reflected off of her skin as it did in reality, illuminating those slate eyes after which I pine so pitifully…_

_The hallucination itself proved to be… much less uplifting than its photorealism._

_She awoke in a daze, confused and angry, as did I – the floor of Domremy was made no softer by the bed on which I rested in reality, but my bewilderment was lessened somewhat by the sight of her and the Godslayer, laying close as if asleep…_

_It is truly a wonder how different one appears when he or she is asleep – in all of Karin's waking hours, I have seen a bold warrior looking me defiantly in the eyes with a terrifying intensity in her gaze… but at that moment, I saw only the kindness and heartwarming vulnerability behind her peaceful features, and while it lasted, it was magnificent._

_Such a powerful emotion sometimes forces me to reconsider some things. How many sides of me she has seen? I have shown her the evil in my soul; I have shown her the very basest elements of my character. Have I shown her enough of the good in me to combat that?_

_My first instinct was to call to her, and to this very moment I cringe at her reaction to the sight of me. She was hesitant from the moment she awoke, as if I were no better than the repugnant demons she killed every day…_

_My mind worked so furiously, heart pounding so painfully as I saw her slipping away, saw her form growing fainter as she fought to lift herself from the dream world. I will not lie: I know nothing of women, and I know even less how to win the affections of the extraordinary Amazon that Karin is. Like a fool I turned to the only things I knew – I offered her everything I could give her, thinking that I could never convince her of my good intentions… fame, fortune, her heart's desire, as if I could make her love me by offering her gold and riches._

_I imagine I would have been insulted as well, should someone assume I were shallow enough to be won over by wealth. And so when all else failed, I did what I should have done to begin with, and offered her the last thing I had: my love._

_Since I met her, not a moment has passed that I have not blindly sought after her approval, although I like to think I have hidden well enough that pitiful sycophantic nature… but for a genuine moment, my deepest longings were fulfilled, for at the mere mention, her heart seemed to soften to me, and within the depths of ash-colored eyes lingered an emotion equally as adoring as my own. Even in sleep I felt my heart skip a beat in anticipation._

_Curse all noble conscience in the world! Curse the morality and that rigid code of ethics that pulled her away from me at the one moment I had to touch her, to give her the embrace I craved… but most of all, I curse the cruel fate that gave her the fire to scorn me so acridly. Her words were unimaginably fierce when she told me that manipulation was my only weapon, and that I used such petty charms as appearance and beauty to get where I am._

_I might have been able to respond had those words affected me less. I am still baffled by their astonishing impact on me – they remain in my memory still, fresh and stinging… many times people have accused me of those very crimes, and I assure you, most of them are disturbingly well-grounded, but to hear it from her…_

_If one had asked Karin not five months in the past, she would have laughed joyfully with that light chuckle of hers that comes and goes so quickly, as if in bursts of delight – dear God, am I never to stop reliving these insignificant details? – and she would have articulated, perhaps even lightheartedly mocked my habit of deploring my own faults. It is true, though, and I am sad to say that amidst those who have known me far longer, she is the only one who has grown to know me so well._

_…enough of my pointless ramblings; I have lost track of the time. I must concentrate on my work, not on women I find painfully out of my reach. When I finally face her in battle, I cannot allow my personal conflicts to distract me. If need be, I will… _

_Damn all that stays my hand while I so much as write this atrocity! I am truly the weakest of men. No more hesitations! I will allow my demon occupant to strike at her; I will encourage it and fuel its rage against her. But perhaps I will also hope she is as nimble as she was during those months we spend together to avoid its devilish speed… _

_It is pathetic, the way my stomach turns to think of how Astaroth twists my mind and my intentions. No – I may profess that I will tear the affection from my heart, but I know above all that when the time comes, I will not be as strong as I would like. No matter how intense my resolve, or how adamantly I claim that I have overcome that crippling emotion, my desires will never be of injury or violence. I am not responsible for the sins committed by that abhorrent parasite in my soul._

_But for the sake of all I love, may the aim of Astaroth be struck off by all the magical wards I can conjure, and may my white magic be enough to protect her from death wherever she may venture._

_Amen._

Karin ran her finger along the bottom of the page, where his valediction trailed into a spot crinkled and brittle as if it had once been wet.

She felt the familiar burning sensation behind her eyes as she realized with an unpleasant jolt that this was a tear, a proof of Nicolai's grief that made her realize just how little she'd trusted his words. She wanted to match it with a tear of her own, as an apology for making so little of his suffering while she was so wrapped up in her own cynicism…. or at least some small reciprocation to let him know that his writings had not gone unseen, and that he had not died unloved…

She'd never wanted to relive that dream so fully, and especially not through his eyes… in his words, identical to her own, even dated the day after that terrible meeting. It made her heart flutter with joy to know that they had shared that one experience, but he'd also described with frightening accuracy the brunt of her awful insults that day, condemning him as a power-hungry politician with evil intentions, calling him a manipulator and expelling herself from the dream before he could say anything more.

While his last words to her had been of his undying love, hers had been of anger and sharp, biting slurs. She had lived, knowing his feelings for her, while he had died thinking she hated him. She had thought so confidently that she was being strong for Yuri and her friends while in reality, all she was doing was breaking the fragile heart of the man who loved her.

Since she had no strength left to cry, Karin flipped through the pages, finding no other mention of her name until the very last entry, dated the day just before she and Yuri hadgone to Apoina Tower to confront Nicolai.

_Dated the third of March, 1915_

_There is very little time left. The hour approaches when I face the Godslayer._

_Everyone else is dead. Hyuga and his loyal throng have killed Curtis, Vera, even Rasputin, the old fool. So I was right after all, telling the stubborn codger he would never defeat the Godslayer. Hyuga's is the will of a human harnessing the raw power of a demon; there can be no match for that kind of strength._

_Rasputin refused to give me, the little bastard whelp he picked up from the streets that would have grown up a street rat if not for his intervention, any say in the matter. He laughed and told me that a weakling of a human such as I had no claim to the power of Hyuga and would provide very little challenge._

_I could have snapped that malevolent halfwit's neck where he sat so complacently! He has no idea of the terms of the soul pact I struck. Astaroth is a proud and resilient force – he did not simply agree to become my slave, residing inside a human host until I deemed him ready to emerge. I had no choice but to defeat my parasite in combat before he would concede before me, and let me assure you that it was no trivial task – my holy wards were the only things that saved me. To the same effect, nothing but white magic was able to pierce Astaroth's thick hide, and only when I enchanted the blade of Galahad's sword with the spells of the saints was I able to strike the conquering blow._

_That is the only reason I would presume my ability to defeat Hyuga – perhaps in single combat I will be able to emerge victorious, for it will be one demon lord against another, one human's strength of will against the other. In the end, it will be the better man who wins._

_But always I assume too much… he will have friends – that same loyal group that follows him wherever he goes, that strikes down his enemies by his side… and Karin, who would follow him into the jaws of death itself, who would gladly slit my throat before looking at me again with kindness in her eyes._

_Why wouldn't she? I threatened her in Domremy, a crime for which there is no excuse. My vendetta is against the one she loves; I have tried to kill him too many times to count. I tarnished her honor by bribing her with riches. I sprang my love on her too soon, and frightened her away with my panic and bad judgment. It is my own fault for driving her away, and I have no place regretting that._

_Perhaps when the Godslayer and his friends put an end to my life, Karin will see at last that I was true in my meaning. And maybe then she will love me at last, and we will meet in the next world where I can tell her everything I could not in life._

_The time grows ever near. Wait for me, Karin, for I am coming to you, and by all that is holy, may you one day realize that I do love you. And that is a sickness of the heart that not even death will cure._

_Nicolas Conrad_


End file.
